


Artfully Crafted Words of Poetry

by starsinursa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brief mention of sexy-times at the very end, Castiel finds it troublesome but also kinda digs it, Cheesy and trope-tastic, Dean has a potty mouth, Lots of profanity and cussing, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9978122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinursa/pseuds/starsinursa
Summary: Yes, the touching first words that Castiel’s soulmate will ever speak to him are:Motherfucking son of a goddamn whore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve decided to write a few of the [30 Cheesy Cheesy Tropes](https://starsinursa.tumblr.com/post/157763300109/30-day-cheesy-tropes-challenge) just for fun and some writing practice, so here is my attempt at #9: Matching Soulmate Markings. I did change things up a little though, so instead of matching markings, it’s an AU where the first words your soulmate ever says to you are written on your arm. I thought it would be hilarious if someone had something just completely ridiculous and vulgar on their arm, so I ran with that idea. I apologize if anyone has had the same idea and written a similar fic before, I haven’t read many soulmate fics so I don’t know what is already out there, but here is my lame take on it. :)
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr.](https://starsinursa.tumblr.com/)

Castiel has, without a doubt, the very worst soulmate words in the entire world.

Of course, he’s made the acquaintance of other people with some pretty terrible ones. Some people have utterly boring words like, “That’ll be $2.52” or “Dr. Tran will see you now”. Sometimes they’ll have amusing and vulgar ones, like “The light’s green, asshole!” He’s even met a couple of people with only one word scrawled on their arm: “Hello”. He can’t imagine how difficult it would be to recognize his soulmate simply by the word ‘hello’, which isn’t distinguishing in the slightest.

But Castiel will definitely not have that problem, because the words on his own arm are so…distinct…that he’ll know immediately he’s met his soulmate, no uncertainties or doubts about it. Yes, the touching first words that Castiel’s soulmate will ever speak to him are:

_Motherfucking son of a goddamn whore._

Obviously, he doesn’t wear short sleeves very often, opting instead for button-downs that keep his arms covered. Sometimes it makes life difficult. He had volunteered as church camp counselor one summer during high school, an experience that had been _disastrous_ because he’d realized as soon as he’d arrived that he was going to be surrounded by dozens of ten-year-olds for the next two months and would need to keep the profanity on his arm covered at all times – no swimming or t-shirts for him. He’d ended up borrowing an old trenchcoat from the lost-and-found box and wore it around most of the summer, sweating profusely in the heat and thinking dark and unkind thoughts about his soulmate, whoever the hell they may be.

Gabriel thinks it’s a riot. Sometimes he’ll wistfully tease Castiel about how he can’t wait to meet ‘the silver-tongued devil’ that will sweep him off his feet with ‘artfully crafted words of poetry’. Gabriel is positive Castiel’s soulmate will be good for him and hopefully get him to ‘loosen up’. It’s a direct contrast to Michael, their oldest brother, who has always looked down his nose at the thought of Castiel’s soulmate. Whenever the topic comes up, Michael mutters disdainfully about ‘terrible first impressions’ and ‘crude influences’.

Castiel ignores them both, mostly. Regardless of anyone else’s opinion, whenever he does meet his soulmate, he’s going to have a few choices words of his own to say.  
_____________________________________________________________

Castiel is sitting on the lawn next to the university library, reading the latest assigned chapter for his world lit class while Meg lounges on her stomach next to him, looking over her chemistry notes with a resigned air. Meg is one of the very rare people – in fact, the only one Castiel has ever met in person – who doesn’t have any soulmate words on her arm at all. _Aromantic_ , she calls herself. She’s been the best friend he’s ever had since they met at freshman orientation two years ago, so as long as she’s happy - with or without a soulmate – then that’s all that matters to Castiel.

“Oh, look,” Meg purrs suddenly, looking up and staring out across the quad. “Pretty Boy is back.”

Castiel’s head snaps up. Sure enough, Pretty Boy – he hates using that moniker but doesn’t know what else to call him, they’ve never even spoken to each other – is walking on the other side of the quad next to the architecture building, kicking a soccer ball along in front of him. Pretty Boy’s friend is with him, the one with the scruffy beard and low-slung cap that Castiel has seen several times. He can see them talking but can’t hear their voices.

Probably not friends, he thinks moodily, eyeing them walking together. Probably soulmates. Pretty Boy is probably one of those lucky people who met his soulmate right away in preschool and never had to worry about who it would be, never had to wonder if he hadn’t been paying attention one day and had accidentally passed them by.

The two of them stop at an empty area of the lawn and spread out, starting to dribble the soccer ball back and forth.

“They’re staying. Great.”

His flat tone makes Meg glance over at him, smirking knowingly. “What’s the matter, Clarence? Don’t you like the view?”

“I am utterly indifferent to the view,” he deadpans, and goes back to reading his page.

“They have been coming here pretty often lately,” she drawls innocently, like she’s just musing out loud to herself, but Castiel knows her better than that. “I mean, there’s an quad right behind the Moore dorms with more space, they probably passed by it coming from that direction. Or the field at the old stadium actually has soccer posts set up.”

“What’s your point?” he grumbles, not looking up.

She shrugs. “No point, angel of mine. It’s just interesting that we see them here all the time lately. It’s a pretty big campus. Thousands of people.”

“Yes, it’s a fascinating coincidence. Please let me study, Meg, I have an essay test on Tuesday.”

She hums thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything else. For a few minutes, it’s quiet on the lawn except for the background noise of other students talking as they sit outside enjoying the weather, the distant hum of off-campus traffic, and the occasional solid thunk from a kick to a soccer ball. It’s peaceful, for the most part.

When someone shouts in alarm, Castiel looks up, just in time to catch a soccer ball square in the face.

The impact knocks him on his back in the grass, his hands flying up to press against his face. His nose is throbbing, his ears are ringing, his face is stinging fiercely. Wow, that hurts. He wonders if his nose is broken.

Meg is next to him, checking him over. “Clarence! Are you okay? Shit, Clarence…” Castiel hears the sound of feet running towards them and then someone dropping to their knees in the grass. He can’t tell who it is with his eyes screwed shut, but he can guess. Meg snaps out, “Way to go, asshole!”

“Motherfucking son of a goddamn whore,” a voice swears above him. “Shit shit shit. I’m sorry, I tried to warn you – fuck - it just got away from me – shit, I feel so bad – “

At the very first words, it feels like every muscle in Castiel’s body momentarily freezes in shock. Then the moment passes and his eyes snap open.

It’s Pretty Boy. He knew it. Of course it’s Pretty Boy, because his life can never be simple.

Despite the pain still radiating through his face, a small, anxious part of him melts away, freeing some of the unspoken concerns that have always plagued him about the words on his arm. He feels a sudden stab of relief, because now he understands – he realizes now that the words on his arm were never his soulmate cursing _at_ him, like he’d secretly feared, but his soulmate cursing _to_ him.

And up close, the guy is even more breathtaking. His eyes are green and Castiel immediately loves them, green eyes are so rare and wonderful. There’s a faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, and a few more on his well-defined shoulders where his tank-top leaves his arms bare. His lips are bowed and gorgeous and profanity is falling from them like rain.

Castiel is hooked. In pain, but hooked.

Right now though, the guy looks like a kicked dog, hands stretched out halfway towards Castiel like he’s not sure whether to touch him or not. He’s still apologizing.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. Fuck.”

That finally snaps Castiel out of it. He cautiously draws his hands away from his face, pressing experimentally along the bridge of his nose – it hurts enough to make his eyes water, but doesn’t seem broken after all. It doesn’t even seem to be bleeding, judging from the lack of blood on his hands, but he’ll probably have two very impressive black eyes tomorrow.

He sits up painfully, holding onto Meg for support, and looks his soulmate in the eyes for a long moment.

The wait from all these years, suddenly culminating in this moment. He’s spent so much time thinking about exactly what he would say, and now he can’t remember a word of it.

“…your mouth is absolutely appalling,” he says, finally, because it’s true.

That startles a laugh out of the guy, green eyes crinkling, and some of the tension seems to drain away from his shoulders now that it’s apparent Castiel is okay.

“Yeah, well, I –“ His mouth snaps shut suddenly. Castiel actually hears his teeth click together. “Wait. What did you say?”

“I said – “

“’Your mouth is absolutely appalling’,” the guy quotes with him, word for word, sounding stunned. He thrusts out his bare arm and stares down at it. Castiel can see those words written on his skin. “Holy shit. It’s you.”

“It would seem so,” Castiel agrees quietly, rolling up his sleeve to bare his own forearm. His fingers only shake a little.

The guy’s eyes travel over the words on Castiel’s skin, staring, then move back to his own arm. He’s silent. Castiel is just starting to get a little worried when suddenly the guy looks up at him and _beams_ , and the intensity of that smile makes Castiel’s tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.

“I can’t believe it. ’Your mouth is absolutely appalling’. I just-” The guy sits back on his heels suddenly, laughing. “All these years I’ve wondered what the hell that meant, but you were talking about my language! I’ve had _nightmares_ about it, dude. ‘Is he a dentist and I’ve got a ton of cavities? Do I have something stuck in my teeth the first time we meet? Maybe we make out and my breath is horrible? What if he thinks I’m a bad kisser? Oh my god, what if my soulmate hates kissing me and never wants to kiss me and we’re one of those couples that just never kiss?’”

“I don’t foresee that being a problem,” Castiel admits honestly, since he hasn’t been able to tear his eyes away from his soulmate’s lips the entire time he’s been talking. Then realizes what he’s said and flushes a little.

But his soulmate doesn’t look offended, just intrigued, eyes flicking up and down Castiel’s body. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips absently. Castiel tracks it. “Yeah? Well…good.”

“Well,” Meg says suddenly, drawing out the word. “I’m going to leave now. I’d make up an excuse, but honestly this mushy soulmate stuff is getting to me and I don’t just want to be here anymore.”

Castiel starts. He’d almost forgotten about her – and about his soulmate’s friend too, who is standing a few feet away and looking just as uncomfortable as Meg.

Meg gives him a quick squeeze around the shoulders, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Congratulations, Clarence. You can tell me all about it later. Just remember, lube is imperative.”

With a smirk, she picks up her notes and heads off across the lawn, leaving Castiel trying very hard not to look mortified. His soulmate’s friend has apparently made similar excuses because he’s making his escape too, soccer ball tucked under his arm, walking just a little quicker than strictly necessary.

They’re alone. He should say something.

“Did you really think I’d be a dentist?” Castiel blurts out, tilting his head.

His soulmate chuckles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck, which Castiel immediately and inexplicably finds endearing. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing, I’ve never had a cavity in my life. I mean, it never stopped me from eating pie or anything, but I brush my teeth all the damn time.”

His soulmate likes pie. Castiel has learned something.

“So…your name is Clarence?” his soulmate asks, fidgeting a little and tapping his fingers on his knee. Maybe he’s nervous too.

Castiel grimaces, then immediately clears his face because he knows it’s not an attractive expression on him and he’d really like to appear as attractive as possible right now. “Oh. No. That’s just what Meg calls me.” He pauses, and then holds out a hand. “I’m Castiel. Castiel Novak.”

The hand that grips his own is rough and warm and perfect. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, Cas.”

They hold the handshake for another moment, then let go.

Dean chuckles again, breaking the tension.

“This is…this is just so _weird_ , man. Is this how everyone feels when they meet their soulmate?” His green eyes meet Castiel’s earnestly, questioning. “I mean, I’ve literally been waiting my whole life to meet you. It’s just…trippy as fuck now that it’s actually happening. Awesome, but trippy as fuck.”

Castiel huffs out a laugh, smiling. “Trippy as fuck. Interesting way of describing it, but not inaccurate. But while we’re on the subject –“ He raises his arm accusingly, drawing Dean’s attention back to the words on his skin. “ _-‘motherfucking son of a goddamn whore’_? Why would those _ever_ be the first words you say to a stranger?”

Dean’s laughter carries out across the quad.  
_____________________________________________________________

**Epilogue:**

It becomes a ‘thing’ of theirs. Castiel is sure that other soulmate couples do it too, he’s not naïve enough to think they’re anything special compared to the millions of other soulmates that have managed to find each other, but it feels that way. He can’t help but think of it as something secret between the two of them, a shared joke.

When Dean chews with his mouth open on purpose, obnoxiously trying to gross out his brother Sam, Castiel rolls his eyes and tells him, “Your mouth is absolutely appalling”. Dean smirks and winks at him.

When they fly the first time, Deans grips Castiel’s hand so hard that his knuckles turn white, muttering under his breath every time a patch of turbulence makes the plane jump. “Motherfucking son of a goddamn whore…” Castiel’s fingers are going numb but he doesn’t ask for them back.

When Dean is spread out on the mattress beneath him, whispering a steady stream of filthy things in one breathy, never-ending sentence, Castiel grips his jaw tight in one hand and pants in his ear, “Your mouth - is absolutely - appalling”. Dean just smiles wickedly and murmurs “You love it”, and it’s true, Castiel does.

When Castiel proposes to him, nervously fidgeting with the silver band he’s holding because even though they’re soulmates doesn’t mean that Dean will say _‘yes’_ , Dean frowns and groans. Castiel’s heart sinks, until Dean grabs him by the collar and kisses him. “Cas, you beat me to it, you motherfucking son of a goddamn whore.”


End file.
